Silence

I can hear the silence buzzing in my ears. It’s a horrible sound. The last words I told her still echo in my head and I slowly feel stupid after I say them. We’re I’m in habit of telling her certain things, sweet things, I suppose, but it all depends on taste. I told her Sweet dreams as we were hanging up. She replied in the same manner.

“Always and only of…” and I held that upward inflection. What was she supposed to say? What was I supposed to say? In the past it would be followed by a you, but now what? Always and only of what we had before all this mess came into our lives? Before the urge to live a new life, a single life? There wasn’t anything I wanted to hear at that moment but I was longing for the you - the me. She always had dreams of me, didn’t she? At least the sweetest ones were of me, right? They were always of her, mostly, usually.

She just said goodnight again. I accepted it because I had done something that I didn’t want to do. This, what we have now, is all that I can expect. I shouldn’t expect more. I wish I could.

Philosopher and I were at Hastings on Friday and I saw this book. Religion has very rarely been a method for me to heal - it hasn’t been one since I was a kid and naive enough to believe that the world was created in only seven days in only a thousand handful of years ago. But Buddhism seems to come more natural to me than any other. I always said if I would allow myself to be naive and believe in something, Buddhism would be my religion.

I should’ve bought it, but I didn’t. Instead I opted for something else - a Soduku book that Jyg and I could share. Something we could do together and prove that two people can be friends despite the break up.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That last time I told her that we were still together and things were going well - well enough to stick it through. And the urge for affection is greatly needed. I’m sick and tired of being the bum friend, the writer with a dream. The person who doesn’t drive because of some inane fears. All these things were fine and perfect when I was a kid, but I’m in the real world now, aren’t I? And the more I start to self-analyze myself, the more I’m convinced that nothing short of an asylum is for me. Somewhere I can be locked up and forgotten.

Or perhaps, I’m just reading into all the shitty thoughts I’ve been having.

We All Deserve to Die

I have been having this ongoing dream where I’m killing myself after killing some unknown person. I think my mental health is on a decline and I don’t trust myself around pills, plastic bags, razors, knives, anything that I can use to end myself. I hate being this weak. And while I’ve become kind of recluse by force, I’m thinking of going to this event on Saturday. I’m not sure how I’ll get there - this is where new friends should come in play. Sadly, I can’t make new friends because I lack that ability and chance. I’m not sure. I want to go because it’s something I’ve never done before, but am I only doing it because Jyg is living a new life without me? And what’s with this jealousy? Suddenly I’m looking at photos of her in short skirts and thinking that other guys are ogling her like they would a slut. My emotions are rampant. Something has snapped.

The fates are vicious and they’re cruel
You learn too late you’ve used
Two wishes
Like a fool

And then you’re someone you are not
And Junction City ain’t the spot
Remember Mrs. Lot and when she turned around
And if you’ve got no other choice
You know you can follow my voice
Through the dark turns and noise
Of this wicked little town

I think this sick city is eating me alive. I’m sure it is. It’s like a putrid cancer that latches to our minds/souls and sucks them drive. We are prisoners of our own private hell. Those of us who do go north wind up in Austin, where we just pollute it without ignorance and apathy. We are a horde of emotional vampires, or zombies, pick your choice. We won’t stop until everyone is just like us. And as long as I’ve known myself, I’ve known there are about two people in this world that I’ve met - the black holes and those of us who get sucked into their world. I’m afraid I’m becoming to believe I’m a dying star.

And soon I will devour everything there is to devour. And I’m sure that things will get better as they say, but when the only person who has ever made you felt normal no longer wants to deal with the shit that your life comes in store, then you feel that the rest of the world is worthless. And now I’m thinking what the point of living this life is because I can’t see it any longer.

I damned her earlier. I damned her for her confusion. Damned her for her drinking. Damned her for her friends. Damned her for all things that have befallen on me by her. And yet I cannot hate her, throw her out. I’m her slave, I’ve realized. The pathetic dog who waits around. I’ve hated the weak my whole life and now I’m one of them and I hate myself for it. If I could, I cut the very heart out of my chest and lay on the ground so that the world may stomp on it.

You think that luck has left you there
But maybe there’s nothing
Up in the sky but air

And there’s no mystical design
No cosmic lover preassigned
There’s nothing you can find
That cannot be found
’cause, with all the changes you’ve been through
It seems the stranger’s always you
Alone again in some new
Wicked little town

So what now? I’m not humanisticly suicidal, just off the wire, I suppose. For five years, I was balanced and now I’m like that circus act. One man upon a unicycle with a table upon his hand, glasses towering high and trying to stay balanced. Because when those glasses fall and shatter, I’m not sure what I am capable of doing.

They all deserve to die.
Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why.
Because in all of the whole human race
Mrs. Lovett, there are two kinds of men and only two
There’s the one staying put in his proper place
And the one with his foot in the other one’s face
Look at me, Mrs Lovett, look at you.

No, we all deserve to die
Tell you why, Mrs. Lovett, tell you why.
Because the lives of the wicked should be made brief
For the rest of us death will be a relief
We all deserve to die.

Dream Blog III

Last night’s dream involved Jyg. She took me to some club/concert, the dream was really troubled, where I met these two guys who I went to high school with. Why I picked these two in my subconscious is still unknown to me, but for those of you who know me well, know the names of Rigo and Ruben and the trouble that follows their names. However, these weren’t their names in the dream. I can’t ever remember Rigo’s new  name, but Ruben was something like Freddy Spider or something of the sort.

Rigo, in typical Rigo fashion, followed Jyg around like a dog. Freddy, on the other hand, was more a hands on sorta guy. He constantly made Jyg uncomfortable to the point that we had to leave. As we were walking out, Rigo tried to stop her but she just said she didn’t want anything to do with Freddy. Freddy wouldn’t have it though. He was wearing this black and white striped long sleeve and he extended his arm and grabbed her. Rigo tried to stop him, but let’s face it, he was always the weaker of the brothers. In the end, I wound up cracking Freddy over the head with a rock, or something, rendering him unconscious.

The next day a police was walking around the area, and I was still there. They asked me a few questions and I denied it. The lady, police officer, then began to make calls. I asked her if Freddy was okay. He was. Then I asked if I made a confession, would she swear to keep Freddy away from Jyg.  She made the promise. I called Jyg and accepted my punishment, which apparently is a lot for just smashing someone over the head. I think I changed my mind late in the dream and killed Freddy.

Learning New Languages

The other day, I was at Hastings with Jyg. We went there so I could choose my birthday present. While there, aside from picking out Atonement (see last post) for my birthday, I decided I was going to buy a book on sign language. I found a lot, most over $20 and only two, a Webster’s Pocket Dictionary and The Pocket Dictionary of Signing. Webster’s was $6.95 and the other was $7.95. However, because we were at Hastings and not heaven, I decided that it was best if I’d look around a bit more before I bought anything. Besides, the need wasn’t that strong. I only wanted to have something I can reference to while I write the story I’m working on.

As we ventured into the wonderful world of Hastings’ used videos, I decided to turn toward the PC stuff. About a year ago, I got software for a fair price ($9.99) that helped with my keyboard usage. I decided to look there to see if there was anything for ASL and lo and behold, there it was, American Sign Language v2.0 for only $5.99. I’m not looking to be a professional in ASL, just know a few of the basics so I can describe the motions. The stuff is a bit corny, but hey, it helps more so than a book because I get to see the motions rather guess whether I’m moving the right hand in the right motion because I just see a fucking picture.

From the Ennui Files

Naturally, The Ennui Files is actually the name I took for my journal that I kept in the spring of 2007. It later morphed into what I now call my e-zine. Last year, Jose Skinner had us keep a journal to chronicle scenes in our everyday life. Needless to say, I found myself becoming involved with my subjects that I chose. One, a young couple, of which was my favorite. I became so involved with them in my journal, that for a moment, I lost myself inside of them. I wanted to be them. Share their happiness. I now bring you, what I rarely do these days, a glimpse into the mind of chaos.

NOTE: names have been removed:

19 March 2007

Nothing eventful happened. I just spent the week writing and remembering, going through terrible withdrawal.

I wonder what’s gonna happen today. A strange anxiety has been building up. The area looks empty. I want them to come already. Ding. Is that them? I looked and saw nothing.

What would I write if I wrote my manifesto? Who will live by it? What will it be called? Who will read these hieroglyphics of mine? What messages - purpose - would this thin book convey?

Another ding. Elevator stopped. Is it them? I see no one. I hate this torture.

[...]

So disappointment has set in. I don’t think the girl’s gonna make it. I think I’m being avoided. I had a terrible dream that this girl is R****’s little sister. I wonder now, but do recall her talking about moving in with her brother and sister, and I don’t remember R**** ever having another sibling. Sometimes I wonder if I can find out about that little girl so many years ago. If my actions - well, not mine, but I did nothing to stop it - had some sort of emotional effect. If all the times we tortured and scared her left her unable to trust others.

[...]

I saw her outside, writing or reading. I wonder if she was told not to have any contact with me.

20 March 2007

For as long as I can remember, I never once had to celebrate my birthday at school - only once, in Kinder and once in high school, but the odd thing was it was at the beginning and the end of my public school career.

And both involved cake, come to think of it. The first was from my mother who surprised me with a birthday party and the last was provided by an old friend of mine named A*** P****. To me, in those days, she was the object of my desire. No matter how many people she fucked, I wanted nothing more than to be with her. She was….who flashed me. We’d been through hell and back and each time we grew close, she’d pull away. It was a game, I’m assuming, something for her to do. It’s been four years since I last spoke to her. I imagine my image of perfection is somewhere out there with wrinkles and a self-loathing disposition. She brought me cake, a rather large cake, announcing my birthday. I left the cake with Mr. Mauro.

Then there was A**** C******** whose name fit her. A slave to her lord, I believe for A**** it was all an act. I never truly believed she was Christian, but I did like her in a grotesque sort of way. I think I wanted to spoil her. To show the humanistic side of her. The true form of her depravity wrapped in angelic virtue. She gave me what any girl should if they ever want to be accepted into my world–****** ****** ****. I’m addicted to them.

One day I will write about every one I knew and immortalize them for my readers.

[...]

Today she did not look at me any different. She smile, in fact. She smiled.

[...]

…I’m in class and it escapes me why I came. I think it’s because today is when S******** B**** is giving out her story. I’m not sure why I still worry about her, or if I should be at all. I get too attached to people. I should learn how to stop.

30 March 2007

Ennui Prayer. I wonder just how deep this will be.

Hamartia - tragic flaw

16 April 2007

“You cannot be a good writer of serious fiction if you are not depressed.”
–Kurt Vonnegut

24 April 2007

Tired. I can’t think straight. All I have in mind is J****** because of my “Samantha” story. Nothing feels right. I’m tired.

I never thought it would be so hard to write something I experience for two years.

25 April 2007

I stopped thinking.

1 July 2007

Like a dream I couldn’t get out of, she appeared before me like I had hoped. She, of course, was with him, but I’m glad they do things like that. I’m glad he drives her, takes her to baseball games. Slowly, I realized, they are my Henry and June. And I am the Anais Nin of this ordeal. Only, I will not have sex with either of them even if I wanted to. Like June said to Henry, I have become bored with my life so I have taken them up.

12 November 2007

I just saw a man who stopped at a trash can to look in. He stood there as I passed him by, stopping to look as well. The creature looked up at us, eyes pleading to escape. I began to walk away as he asked me to stop and help him with the trash can. I hesitated, but he did it anyway. The animal crawled out and walked away slowly. The man placed the trash can back. As we walked away, I asked, “How do you suppose it got in there?”

He answered that it was looking for food.

“How did it get in?”

“Sometimes,” he answered, “it’s easier to get in but not out.”

5 December 2007

Jyg’s in the mood of no longer dealing with me.

22 December 2007

Something’s wrong with me. Everything I look at is another way to kill myself. The bag on the floor, for instance, seems to be the easiest way to do it. Just to cloak it over my head and lay down seems blissful, but so weak. I refuse to be weak.

29 January 2008

I saw T**** Saturday. She’s now working at Barnes & Noble. She recognized me, looked at me and went back to her red velvet cake.

[...]

I met Adam Zuniga.

5 February 2008

I fall in love with people’s minds. I have fallen in love with several people - infatuation, not raw emotion.

17 March 2008

Returning to a journal after a long pause isn’t any different than talking to an old friend after 5 yrs. I’ve resorted to blogs for the story of my life. I feel that I have fallen victim to the modern technology disease.

After all the years of fighting for Jyg, I have succumbed. I am returning to the place of friend. I am never sure where this path will lead me.

So I’m thinking that with all my friends becoming more and more fixed in their lives - with marriage & children - and now with Jyg leaving me, I need to move on. I’m thinking of joining the Peace Corps.

18 March 2008

What parts of me am I willing to expose? Which parts will I be willingly to give to another? In classical literature, I am told, most poets would give their lover their bowels. Every stinking, putrid organ of their bodies for their love, for their women, for their men. What am I willing to give up for the one that I love - that I will love? I want a woman of strength. Someone who is strong enough to love me. Someone I can be strong enough for. Someone I can spend the rest of my life with.

I want to expose myself to the world, as I have exposed others. Each part of me shall be left shackled. Left tormented. I want to see the world, while helping others. I want to be emotionally available without giving my heart away too soon. But that defeats what I want in life. Is my heart a vital organ I am not willing to give? To expose?

I want to transcend. I want to fill myself to remove the void. To cover the most shameful parts of my body.

[a cross with the word "WISH" written upon the middle, beneath: "I want so much to believe."]

[a heart with thorns upon it, a flame burning upon it. "Tender Being" is written above and below, on slot for each word.]

I am Ennui Prayer.

I am now dawning on the anniversary of being Ennui Prayer. I’m now fleeting in a world of post Poet Demas. I change my alter ego so much, it’s no wonder I’m having an identity crisis.

What now? I applied & tested for telecommunications. The city doesn’t want me, nor does the university. I know it’s because of my lack of license. I want to drive. I need to drive. But I need to get over my stupid fears.

That concludes my journal entries I was willing to share with you. I’m hoping, with time, some of these entries will become a part of The Wastelanders.